


I Own You

by Skullfuggery (OverwatchingYouSleep)



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dry Humping, Exhibitionism, Knifeplay, M/M, Mild Blood, Minor Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements, male reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-09-22 11:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17058854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverwatchingYouSleep/pseuds/Skullfuggery
Summary: "Delivered In A Firm Unyielding Way,Lingering For Just A Bit Too LongTo Communicate The Message"I Own You"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First thing I've written in a while, and as always self indulgence is an ART

You were so close. So fucking close, and of course he had to take away your hope the moment it sprouted. That was where a sick fuck like Michael Myers got his kick.  
  
He had killed half of you already. It was only you and Nea left, anxiously watching your back while you opened the Exit Gate.  
  
And you did. But not fast enough.  
  
Standing where she was, Nea was through the gate a second before you, and that second made you the victim of Michael's grip and not her. You expected him to yank you backwards but he did the opposite, shoving you into the brightly-lit exit area and flat on your face. His hand still pressing your face into the cobblestone, you shifted best you could to look ahead, and your only hope for salvation.  
  
But it was too late. Nea had seen it, was looking at you now, but from the other side of the Entity's chitin web. She had escaped the trial. You had nobody to help you. You hiccuped, trying to hold back your tears, once again ready for Michael to yank you back and throw you over his shoulder.  
  
That didn't happen. He kept you there, hovering just above you with his red stain painting you and the ground you were pinned to a deep crimson. You heard him breathing, saw the stain shift as he looked you over. Then, a move so gentle yet more terrifying than anything a killer had ever done to you before: His hand came to a rest on your ass.  
  
Michael was **frisking** you. In a panic, you looked back at the exit. Nea was still there, trying to climb up the Entity's interwoven claws in hopes of finding some opening to get back to you. You weren't quite so optimistic.  
  
Michael was paying her no mind at all; his attention focused entirely on you. He had come to straddle your thighs, destroying every effort to writhe and crawl towards your friend and freeing both his hands to grope you shamelessly.  
  
"What the fuck are you doing?" you demanded, trying to look over your shoulder at him. It didn't do you much good though, to see that emotionless mask stare down at you with no response to your question. The light shining down on him hid the eyes behind his mask and cast a halo of light around his entire body, making him an even more horrifying specter. Suddenly "The Shape" made a lot more sense.  
  
Your witness only seemed to spur him on further. He slid further up your body, his hands finding a new resting spot on your shoulders while his crotch pressed up on your ass. Blood rushed through you, both to your cheeks and to your flaccid cock, making it pique just the slightest bit with the attention. It didn't have much room to grow pressed against the stone though.  
  
His motions had a certain fervor behind them, but you knew nothing about it was passionate. Michael was heartless, proven further by how his voyeurism was rearing his head. It would have been easy for him to drag you back into the trial, to do this anywhere more comfortable. But he wanted you to lay here, forced to look into your friends eyes helpless, and her just as much so, the barrier between you cruelly filled with gaps that she watched through. And he watched her, only further burying your nose into the mountain of shame that pooled in your gut.  
  
He wanted her to see this. Wanted a witness to what he was doing to you.  
  
Myers pushed his hand against the side of your skull, rubbing your already aching cheek into the dirt for the second time. His other hand grabbed a tight hold of your hip, pulling it up until you were on your knees. He went from straddling you to kneeling behind you, his hard on still pressed against you through two thick layers of clothing.  
  
You hadn't seen his knife yet, but he made a point to grab and show it to you when you started squirming under him again. It was calm and confident, laying the blade so the tip pressed against your nose, and his hand splayed flat over the handle. Not an active grip, but the threat was there, ready to act in an instant. You were stilled without a peep.  
  
He started grinding into you again, slow and deliberate. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, his silhouetted figure looming over you and staring down into your frightened eyes. His breathing was quiet still, but heavier, much faster than it had been moments before. All while he rocked his hips with yours in a steady rhythm, growing more enthusiastic with every press.  
  
Any attempt to distance yourself from his violation was met with his aggression. You closed your eyes and felt the flat of the blade press against your cheek, leaving a shallow cut on your jawline as he slid it down. When you tried to muffle your crying he shoved his disgusting blood-covered fingers past your lips, prying the noises out of your throat with a satisfied tilt of his head.  
  
When he pulled his hand back to your hips you were afraid he was finally going to pull your pants down, but he only grabbed your thigh, his fingers digging deep into the muscle through the thick denim. Michael let out a loud growl, his massive frame leaning over you, almost enveloping you in his mass. It was a second later than you felt it, a distinct warmth pressing up against your ass. He had cum inside his jumpsuit.  
  
His hand finally pulled itself out of your hair and you didn't waste the opportunity. You scrambled to your feet, and surprisingly managed to escaped his arms reach without getting seized, stumbling out of the exit and back to Nea. She was still waiting for you, equal parts concern and disgust written on her face.  
  
"You okay?" she asked, her gaze settled on your waist. You didn't need to look down to know why; you were well-aware of and hideously ashamed of the tent in your jeans.  
  
"Yes," you wheezed, looking back through the Entity's gate. Michael was gone, his knife still resting on the cobblestone where he caught you. "It's next time I'm worried about."  
  
"Yeah," she said, only a little incredulous. "I bet."


	2. The Most Important Part of Your Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't make a peep,  
> We know where you sleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I continue this? Probably! Will it be in any reasonable amount of time? Haha!

Somehow it didn't occur to you just how lucky you had gotten the last time you went up against Michael. Where he held you inches from the gate and did with you as he pleased, then allowed you to make your escape when he was done with you.

 

Because he  _ did  _ let you. You understood that the moment you awoke in this trial, the telltale ring of scarred flesh around your wrist that marked you as the Obsession. There was no mistake in that escape. No momentary lapse in attention, or bloodlust. It was a game of his, a game you remembered Laurie describing to you but never thinking it would be relevant.

 

You didn’t see which realm you had been thrown into right away; around you were the four familiar walls of the killer shack. You pulled yourself onto your feet using the generator beside you as a handhold, and instantly locked eyes with the basement stairs on the other side of the small room. 

 

It didn’t help that you had come to this trial empty handed. There was little hesitation (there could never be much in a trial) before you tip-toed down the stairs, locking eyes with the chest in the opposite corner. You didn’t know what to hope for when you pried open it’s lid, but it was not a mess to be sorted through. You parted through barely-intact quilts, bundles of thick rope, searching for anything that could be of use. 

It was the instant your fingers brushed over a medkit that the heartbeat began to pound in your ears, and loud. Instantly you were resigned; you let him grab you without a moment’s struggle. Let him throw you on the hook, you would squirm until the Entity's claws erupted from the base of the sacrificial monument and then you would let them take you. It would be a mercy.

 

A mercy, it quickly became evident, that you would not receive.

 

Michael held you to the ground first, his knee dropped across your calves to keep you still. Then you felt his blade, slow and deliberate across your Achilles' tendon, warm blood running down your sock and dribbling onto the floor. You screamed, then bit down on your fist to muffle it when you realized your pleas would only echo off the decrepit wooden walls and back onto your own ears.

 

Satisfied with you unfit to run, he reached beneath you and grabbed your shirt. You sucked in your breath as he shoved you against the doors of a closet, the old wood bowing with the force of the single blow against it. Your leg twitched violently, trying to get you to respond to the pain signals it was sending and getting no response. Your sole focus was on the black gaze of the killer standing before you.

 

In this moment of silence you heard something that was not the low gurgles of the Entity through the basement's thin walls, nor the pulse of heavy breath on latex. It came from above, the pitter patter of sneaking footsteps, and from the upwards tip of his chin, Michael heard it too.

 

There was someone upstairs. More than one person if you were hearing right. You swallowed when you realized that you couldn't call for help, even now. If you screamed, Michael would have you on a hook before they could even make it halfway down the stairs, and then you'd be dead and have the blood of a teammate on your hands.

 

Eyes shut, you prayed that whoever was in the killer shack would choose to move elsewhere. There was silence for a moment, perhaps wondering if they should check the basement chest themselves. Somehow, what you heard instead was even worse: the slow firing up of a freshly started generator.

 

You winced and opened your eyes, and the sight before you nearly made you shout. Not in fear, or even alarm, but a noise ready to erupt out of your throat from pure shock.

 

Michael had removed his mask.

 

It was hard to see in the dark, the finer features of his bare face hidden to the shadows, but the very silhouette gave it away. The fibrous false hair was gone, now it was a mess of moppy brown hair sent wild after being released from confinement after god knows how long. You thought you saw a milky haze over one of his eyes, but you didn't look long, because as suddenly as he revealed himself he was kissing you.

 

Kissing you. His lips were mashed with yours, desperate and forceful and completely inexperienced. And soft. Not the sort of lips you would expect from a serial killer. Not cracked or deformed like some of the other monsters that hunted you. More human than you ever wanted to consider him.

 

Blood rushed in your ears. You had to do something; you couldn't just let this happen. But somewhere between brain and body there was a short, a disconnect that turned you into a motionless, startled deer in Michael's grasp.

 

Then, you felt a hand crawling up your inner thigh. The wires connected, and your knee jerked up and into Michael's stomach, narrowly missing a much more favorable target.

 

Bu it was enough. Michael dropped you with a grunt, louder than usual without the latex to muffle him, and you hit the ground between his boots and the closet. Too broken to run, too afraid to scream. You could only sit there and cower as he recovered from the stun and looked down at you.

The generator was a quarter of the way done now. You hated that you had been here long enough to know that. Hated it even more than in the months of horrors, death, and running for your life over and over, somehow this was the worst thing to happen to you: Catching the killer's eye for something besides a fresh sacrifice.

Helpless as you were, you were so frustrated that you scrunched up your face, and you glared at Michael. Letting him see the anguish that flooded through you even if both of you knew it wouldn't stop him.

 

It was hard to tell in the supernatural darkness of the basement, but you could have sworn you saw the bastard smirk.

 

He didn't lift you up again; now he lowered himself to you. His hands found themselves besides your head, his knees on either side of your legs. He leaned down as though to kiss you again, but an inch from your lips he paused, and pulled back.

 

Not long enough to lift your hopes. He grabbed your waistband with both hands and tore your jeans down your legs. Denim sent heat down your fleshy thighs, but it was shame that sent the real fire through your body, tears bursting through your eyes instantly with the embarrassment of being exposed.

 

He reached above you, and the slam of the chest lid made your heart jump, eying the ceiling for any sign that your teammates had heard. But the generator still clanked and shook with their handiwork, and showed no signs of stopping. Michael was not so cautious; he was already picking you up off the floor and perching you over the closed chest, continuing to rip away your jeans without care.

 

You wished he would cover your mouth. Wished he would do you the favor of not allowing you to scream so you didn't have to make the conscious effort to stifle your protests. If they decided to come down...

 

_ No _ \--you shook your head-- _ they couldn't. _

 

The disgust in Nea's eyes was enough the first time. Now she couldn’t make eye contact with you over the fire. At the very least, judging from the others she hadn't told anybody yet. But now Jeff, Meg, and Quentin were in this trial, and at least two of them were right above you. Crouched around a chugging generator, unaware of your plight. One person might keep a secret, but if they found you like this, exposed and bent over for a killer, that would get around. What would they think if they caught you like this? Being the social pariah inside the _never-ending hell_ was not a fate you could handle.

 

His first touch made you jump, his fingers curling over your hip and making their way slowly around the curve of your ass. He began to mimic the motion with his left, while his right fingers began to curl between your cheeks and prod at you insistently.

 

You hissed, but through your tears it was more a wheeze, forehead falling flat against the chest. Michael nudged your legs further apart with his knee, pressing more urgently as soon as he was satisfied.  You barely resisted and even then he had a hard time pushing into you, his impatience making him growl so quietly you could barely hear it.

 

Fear struck you as you realized he might give up entirely and take you without preparation if his attention waned. Desperate, swallowing what remained of your dignity, you bucked your hips up and tried your best to make your body relax so you could take him.

 

"Please...?" you managed, only because it was all you could manage with your seizing throat, barely able to sob anymore.

 

This got his attention. You felt his body heat against your back as he leaned over you, his fingers moving slower yet no more gentle.

 

"Not so hard." You clenched your watering eyes shut and opened them, staring at the patterns of the wood that your nose was pressed against. You blinked again and a small waterfall of tears dripped down below you, forming a puddle over a scorch mark that marred the light wood. "Please."

 

He paused, then pushed himself as deep as he could get inside of you. You winced and cried into your teeth, fingers curling on either edge of the chests lid, while he held himself there and watched you shake beneath him. A moment in he got the idea to grab your hair and pull your head to the side, your cheek pressed against the wood and your tears on display.

 

Then he began to move, an almost delicate motion that you knew was to mock you. You could barely see him in the corner of your vision, barely able to make out his one good eye staring down at you. Taking it all in, seeing what he could do to you and still have you fucking beg for more. It was all getting too much.

 

You took a deep breath, and your wail of frustration was matched perfectly with the obscure alarm that signified a working generator, blaring from the megaphones right above you. A rush of feet ran back over your heads and out the door, too afraid of detection to listen for your scream--or perhaps hearing it and too afraid to guess where it came from.

 

But Michael heard. Your heart sunk into your stomach as he pulled his fingers out of you, presence slipping away from your body. Heavy breaths going faint as they pressed against heavy latex.

 

When the figure returned to your vision, it was the eyes of the Shape bearing down on you.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @the-yandere-cryptid
> 
> and twitter @skullfuggery


End file.
